


Boondock Saints Drabbles

by liggytheauthoress



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Drabble Collection, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liggytheauthoress/pseuds/liggytheauthoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have a tendency to write lots of little BDS drabbles when I'm bored, and I figured it makes more sense to just have them all in one place, rather than uploading every single on separately. Tags will be updated accordingly as more are added.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> Connor wakes up in the hospital after saving Murphy from the Russians.

The first thing Connor thought when he woke up in the hospital was,  _Please, God, let Murph be okay too._

And then he realized someone was lightly carding fingers though his hair, and a hand was grasping his, and he felt a crushing wave of relief hit him before he even opened his eyes. “Murph.”

He could tell Murphy was feeling the same relief that he was as his twin broke into a tired smile and whispered, “You fuckin’ idiot. You ever jump off a fuckin’ building again and I’ll kill ya.”

Later on, Connor would scold him for that, tell him it was the only way to protect him and that he’d jump again in an instant if he had to and could Murphy really judge in the first place? But that would be later. For now, he focused on checking Murphy for injuries. “You okay?”

“Christ. Ya just jumped off a five-story building and you’re askin’ me if  _I’m_  okay?”

“Answer the fuckin’ question.”

Murphy rolled his eyes. “M’fine, Con. Apart from you scarin’ me half to death.”

Another question occurred to Connor. “How the fuck did we get here, anyway?” He hoped Murph hadn’t called an ambulance. Ambulances meant cops. Cops meant…Well, Connor had nothing against them, but he didn’t particularly want them getting involved in this. Not until they’d had a chance to think of an explanation, at least.

Murphy exhaled, like he’d been dreading this question. “I…I carried ya here.”

“ _What_?”

“Well I didn’t exactly have a fuckin’ choice, did I? You were unconscious!”

“Ya could’ve just brought me back up to the flat!”

“I didn’t know if you had fuckin’ internal bleedin’ or some shit like that, I wasn’t gonna risk that!” Murphy gave him a look. “Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t’ve done the same thing.”

He was right. Connor was overreacting. And considering Connor was the one who had just jumped off a roof, he supposed Murphy was justified. Murphy saw the conceding look in his eyes and gave a small, wry smile, kissing his temple. “Idiot.”

Connor shifted in the emergency room chair and wrapped an arm around his brother, curling around him. Now the adrenaline was wearing off, he was starting to realize how scared he’d been. “Jesus Christ, Murph, I thought…Fuck.”

“I know.” Murphy rested his head against Connor’s. “I was scared too.”

“Y’know I’d never let anyone hurt you, right? Not ever.”

“Aye.”

Connor trailed a finger along Murphy’s neck, stopping at his pulse point. It was a habit he’d had since childhood - whenever Murph would get hurt, or come close to getting hurt, Connor would rest a finger on his neck or wrist or chest and focus on his pulse, his heartbeat, until he’d been reassured that Murphy was really, truly there. Murphy did the same now, resting his palm above Connor’s heart. Connor could feel them both relaxing, the tension, while not disappearing completely, waning somewhat.

For right now, everything was going to be okay.


	2. Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They’d built themselves a makeshift fort when they were eight. Nothing fancy, just some wood cobbled together into a lopsided but sturdy structure. Connor loved the fort, mostly because it was the one place where he didn’t have to worry about being forced to share his brother with anyone."

When Connor and Murphy were growing up in Ireland, they spent as much of their spare time as possible in the woods the lay about a mile down the road from their house. It was a dense, overgrown area, so not many of the other kids ventured into it, and as a result, the boys usually had it to themselves. Which was exactly how they liked it.

They’d built themselves a makeshift fort when they were eight. Nothing fancy, just some wood cobbled together into a lopsided but sturdy structure. Connor loved the fort, mostly because it was the one place where he didn’t have to worry about being forced to share his brother with anyone. He and Murph would hole up inside and play cards or a board game, or curl up under the worn blanket they kept there and fall asleep for an hour or two.

Not all their time was spent in the fort. A great deal of it was spent traipsing around the woods, seeing what sorts of misadventures they could get themselves into. Tree-climbing was a favorite pastime, as was messing around in the creek. They’d play until it was time to go home, or until one of them - usually Murph - fell and scraped and arm or knee, at which point the other would insist on going back home immediately so Ma could make sure it wasn’t a serious injury.

As they got older and grew less and less interested in the concept of having a large circle of friends, Connor and Murphy spent more time in the woods. They started stashing cigarettes and cans of beer (smuggled out of the house, of course) in the fort, and almost every day, after school, they’d go there for a smoke. If Ma knew about it, she never said anything. The fort became a sanctuary, a place where they could say and do what they pleased without having to worry about what anyone else might say. Even as kids, they knew their relationship with each other wasn’t exactly normal, and it was nice to have a place where they didn’t have to deal with comments about how “unusually close” they were.

Every now and then, they’d camp out in the fort for the whole night, staying up until the small hours of the morning telling ghost stories and eating junk food until they fell asleep curled up in the same sleeping bag. Those nights were special - they made the brothers feel like they were the only two people in the world.

Even as teenagers, Connor and Murphy still used the woods as a refuge. They didn’t go there as often, but whenever they were stressed or worried or just needed some alone time, they’d escape to their haven for a few hours. Sometimes they’d smoke and talk, other times they’d just find somewhere to sit down and curl up together (it was rarely the fort, though; it had gotten a little cramped when they started getting taller) and just enjoy the solitude.

The day before they left for Boston, the boys paid one last visit to the place where they’d spent so much of their childhood. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but they were both a little nervous about moving an ocean away, and revisiting their former haven made the idea a little easier to deal with. The woods was a reminder that, no matter where they went in this world, they’d always have one another.

And that was all either of them needed.


	3. Tuxedo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He looked like a character right out of a movie. Like James fucking Bond. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my own Tumblr post: http://liggytheauthoress.tumblr.com/post/32627250257

Nobody in the MacManus family was very big on formal events. Especially when it came to formal attire. Connor hated those stuffed shirts and starched pants and ridiculous ties - give him jeans and boots any day.

So when Ma informed him and Murphy that they’d been invited to some wedding - her second cousin, once removed, or something like that - the news was not met with enthusiasm.

The boys put off getting dressed until the absolute last minute, at which point Ma yelled at them from down the hall to get moving and Connor dragged himself into the bathroom to shave. He took as long as he could, knowing that eventually he’d have to change into the stupid fucking tux. He’d only worn it once before, to a dance at school (a night which had been doubly unpleasant since Murphy hadn’t been able to go), and it was the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever experienced.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Murphy called from outside.

Connor rolled his eyes at his brother’s “let’s get this over with” voice, reluctantly finishing up and relinquishing occupation of the bathroom, elbowing Murphy in the side as they passed in the hallway.

A few minutes later and Connor was standing in front of the mirror in Ma’s room, attempting - and failing - to fasten his tie. Fucking bowties. Who’d thought they would ever be a good idea? Eventually Connor just went downstairs to have Ma do it (which was NOT admitting defeat - it was just the more intelligent option).

Of course Ma, being Ma, didn’t stop at just tying Connor’s tie, and ended up doing several other things such as neatening his hair, brushing off his jacket, and even putting a flower in his fucking lapel. By the time she was satisfied, Murphy was bounding down the stairs.

Connor glanced up when he heard his brother coming down, ready to make some sort of teasing comment, but his words died in his throat.

The last time he’d seen Murphy in any type of suit was when they’d been twelve. The suit had been too big for him and made him look utterly ridiculous, and Connor had remarked that his twin shouldn’t ever even bother trying to dress up.

But now...

Murph looked fucking gorgeous. That was the best word Connor could think of, especially as his vocabulary seemed to have all but disappeared at the moment. He looked like a character right out of a movie. Like James fucking Bond.

Connor was on the verge of marching over and pulling him into a kiss when he remembered that Ma was there, and he made a mental note to sneak off with Murph at some point during the wedding reception. A very large part of him wished they could just stay home, because Connor was very, very reluctant to share this sight with anyone, even their mother. He was very possessive of Murphy normally, and this was not helping.

“The fuck are you staring at?” Murphy remarked, arching an eyebrow and punching Connor on the arm.

Connor snapped out of his daze, remembering that Ma was still there. “Nothin’. Just wonderin’ where the fuck you learned how to tie a bowtie.”


	4. Flashing Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are flashing lights and ambulances and fire trucks and Jesus Christ your building - the building you left your brother in - looks like it got hit with a fucking meteor."

You only go out for a pack of cigarettes and a case of beer.

It was technically his turn, since he’d smoked the last one, but he’d made the last beer run and you owed him (and okay, he looked damn comfortable curled up on the sofa and you didn’t want to make him go out into the snow).

Ten minutes, you said. Back in ten minutes.

Except ten minutes turn into twenty, because half the fucking shops decided not to open today (fucking snow), and it takes forever to find one that sells your preferred brand of cigarettes. It takes another ten minutes to get the damn beer because the entire population of South Boston is apparently making a beer run too.

When you finally reach your block, you’re cold and grumpy and eager to curl up under a blanket and more likely than not shove your feet into your brother’s lap until they warm up, despite his protests about how it’s like having a fucking block of ice dropped on him...

...except something isn’t right.

There are flashing lights and ambulances and fire trucks and Jesus Christ your building - the building you left your brother in - looks like it got hit with a fucking meteor.

You drop the plastic bag you’re holding, beer and cigarettes forgotten, and almost trip and fall flat on your face in your attempt to get over there as fast as possible. You hurdle over the yellow caution tape, pushing past emergency officials who try to hold you back, because like hell are they keeping you away from him.

You’re yelling for him, screaming his name. A small voice in the back of your mind tells you he might not be able to hear you, he might be lying in the back of one of those ambulances out cold (but not dead, never dead, you refuse to even consider that possibility), but you ignore it, because the only thing keeping you from completely freaking out right now is your brother’s name.

When you finally see him, it feels like a car’s been lifted off your chest, and you stumble to a halt and just inhale because somewhere back there you forgot how to breathe. You want to go over to him but your legs suddenly feel boneless.

So he comes to you. Halfway there, he breaks into a run and practically flings himself into your embrace. You press your face into his neck, seeking out the soothing rhythm of his pulse, needing to reassure yourself that his heart is still beating. He says nothing as you clutch him as tightly as you can, merely cards his fingers through your hair and waits for you to calm down.

“The fuck happened?” you ask, choking a little on the tears of relief you’re refusing to shed.

“Explosion in the basement. Gas leak or some shit.” He lets you pull him closer. “Just a stupid accident.”

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ scare me like that again.” You pull away enough to look him firmly in the eye. “Understand?”

There’s a gash on his cheek, not deep enough to require stitches, but still enough to make your stomach churn. You lightly run a finger along the edge, trying not to think about how you should be in his place right now, or about how it could have been worse. So much worse...

He’s not saying anything, just watching your face as you try to shove the mental images out of your mind. When that doesn’t work, you pull him against you once more, concentrating on the way you can feel his heartbeat against your chest.

Later on, when you’re curled up next to each other on the futon in Rocco’s flat and you still can’t close your eyes without seeing flashing red and blue lights, he kisses you gently and promises that he’s not going anywhere, not now, not ever.

And you feel like you should remind him that he can’t know that for sure, but you don’t. You just pull him closer and whisper, “Me neither. Not now. Not ever.”

 


	5. Solitary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They were easily the longest ten days of Connor’s life."

It had only been a matter of time before one, or both, of them ended up in solitary. All it took was one asshole taking a swing at Connor in the yard, and next thing they knew the MacManus brothers were both sentenced to ten days in separate cells.

They were easily the longest ten days of Connor’s life.

The longest he’d ever been apart from Murphy was twelve hours, and that had been one of the hardest days of Connor’s life. This was torture.

He lasted about forty-five minutes before he started throwing things. Two days before he started trying to find a way to break or cut through the bars. Five before he flat out started trying to tear the whole fucking cell apart so he could get to his brother.

The sixth and seventh days were spent in silent deliberation, staring at the ceiling as he imagined all the things he’d do to get even with the fuckers who had started the fight, and the guards who’d put him in here. Day eight was spent pacing, doing push-ups and sit-ups, any kind of physical activity to get his mind off the empty space beside him.

The last two days, Connor slept. Eight days of pining and sulking and going fucking stir-crazy had exhausted him. The sleep was a welcome reprieve after all that.

Finally, fucking finally, they opened the door and escorted him back to his old cell. His heart leapt when he saw Murphy was already inside.

The door had barely shut before Murphy practically tackled Connor, wrapping his legs around his brother’s waist and melded their mouths together. Connor fisted a hand in Murphy’s hair, deciding that he was never relinquishing his grip for the rest of his life, and anyone who tried to make him let go would promptly have their throat ripped out.

When they finally pulled apart for air, Connor rested his forehead against his brother’s.

“Ya fuckin’ idiot,” he muttered. “Next time someone throws a punch at me you fuckin’ stay out of it, yeah? ‘Cause I’ll lose my fucking mind if we have to do this again.”

Murphy rolled his eyes and lightly punched his twin in the shoulder. “Shut it. You would’ve done the same thing, arsehole.”

Connor swatted Murphy’s arm, knowing he was right. “You shut it.” Before Murphy could say anything else, Connor tugged him over to their bunk and flopped down onto it, pulling Murphy with him. Murphy immediately curled up on his chest and nuzzled into him contentedly.

“Missed this,” Murphy muttered, tracing along the tattoo on Connor’s neck with his lips.

“Me too, Murph,” Connor murmured in reply. “Me too.”

 


End file.
